


Twenty-Five Times

by magicandlight



Series: The States [26]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 03:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12099939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicandlight/pseuds/magicandlight
Summary: Twenty-five times a Nation met one of the North Americans.





	Twenty-Five Times

**_1_**  
**New Netherlands, America**  
**August 11, 1645**  
The Netherlands turned in a circle on the dock. It was the first time he'd been there since England had claimed the little colony kid.  _America_.

"Are you lost?" Netherland looked down to see a little raven-haired girl. (She wasn't little by much. She was quite tall for a girl her age.)

He crouched down to be at her eye level. "No. Are you?"

The girl lifted her head haughtily. "I don't get lost."

Netherland laughs. "What's your name, kid?"

"Mariska. What's yours? Why are you here?" The questions come in rapid-fire dutch, and her accent is comforting, smooth.

"Lars, and I came here to check on the colony." Usually, he doesn't talk to children, but this one is strangely charming. Her big blue eyes twinkle prettily, remind him of his sisters', except Emma had green eyes.

"It's nice to meet you, Lars." Mariska grabs his hand and shakes it, her small grip surprisingly strong.

After a second, the girl runs off, leaving Netherland with the feeling he missed a piece of very important information.

 ** _2_**  
**Colony of New Jersey, America**  
**May 23, 1670**  
He still visited for trade sometimes. It was nice to be off the continent, away from Europe and its messy affairs. He understood why sometimes England would disappear for months at a time to take a break with America, why France did the same with Canada.

He liked staying up towards the former boundaries of New Netherlands, where the land was familiar. He liked riding his horse around it, when he needed a break.

He had stopped for a moment to go grab the mail, had tied his horse to a pole.

He came back to a boy, about seven, running his fingers through the huge black Friesian's mane.

Most full-grown adults are afraid of Hugo, of how large he is.

This child, however, was giggling as Hugo sniffed his hand, holding still to let the horse catch his scent.

Netherlands stares. Hugo neighs softly when the boy stretches up to scratch behind his ears.

"Hello." He says, and restrains a laugh as the boy jerks back and falls on his butt.

The boy looks up. "Hallo." He says and his accent is tinged with something American. "I'm sorry. I just really like horses." Hugo nickers, looking towards the boy almost worriedly.

Netherlands can't find it in himself to be mad. "It's no problem, really."

 ** _3_**  
**Spanish Florida, America**  
**November 6, 1691**  
Spain grabbed the child as it ran, trying to catch it.

Only to quickly release the child when it bit down on his forearm.

One of his generals laughed. "Are you okay, Antonio?"

" _Sí_. Just a little bite from a little girl."

He never saw the shade of the girl's eyes, how they were identical to his.

He only saw the Indian scoop her up, pressing the child to her chest in a desperate hope of protecting her.

 ** _4_**  
**Province of Carolina, America**  
**February 12, 1708**  
England saw the boy slip a loaf of bread of the cart, and he saw the owner grab his too-skinny wrist.

The boy looked up when England stepped in front of him, red hair that reminded him a little too much of Ireland and North for comfort falling in sea-colored eyes.

England put a few coins down for the bread, and watched as he scampered off. One eyebrow raised as the boy ran across the road and greeted a mirror image of himself.  _Far too much like Ireland and North for comfort._ He didn't regret it, even though it made him late to meet America.

He knew what it felt like to starve too, after all.

 ** _5_**  
**Veracruz, Mexico**  
**June 17, 1715**  
Spain didn't even notice the boy at first. Not until the little girls said something about him being cute.

Then his eyes were drawn to the child sitting on top of the wall, a book in his lap. The sun glinted off of his rosary as he twisted it in his hands.

There was something about him that made Spain not want to go investigate.

 ** _6_**  
**Spanish Colony of California, Mexico**  
**May 5, 1768**  
Spain watched as Mexico spun the giggling little girl around. Mexico set her down, and Spain stepped out in front of the girl.

 _"¿Quién es esta chica bonita?"_ He asked. The girl's eyes widened, and she backed away, fast, and back into Mexico. Her brown eyes were afraid.

" _Valentina, está bien, el no te hará daño_." Mexico soothed. The girl shakes her head, and Mexico sighs. " _Ve a jugar con tus hermanos_."

"Valentina?" Spain asks.

"The mission workers named her and her brothers."

"Brothers?"

"Two; I think they're triplets."

"Triplets?"

"Left on the mission steps."   
\----------  
He goes looking for them later that day.

The two boys move in front of their sister protectively.

He crouches down. "My name's Antonio, what's yours?"

"Gabriel." One says. "And he's Jax, and that's Valentina."

"You don't look scared of me." Antonio says, almost surprised. He'd expected three skittish children.

"Val's a scaredy cat." Jax said. "She's a baby."

"I'm older!" The girl cried out.

"By like five minutes!" Gabriel retorted.

"Yeah, best five minutes of my life." Valentina retorted.

Spain smiled. They reminded him of him and Portugal, or maybe Netherlands and Belgium.

 ** _7_**  
**Pennsylvania, America**  
**October 12, 1777**  
France sat in the Continental Congress meeting and listened. America's ideas weren't all that bad, he conceded.

"Do you need something?" The voice wasn't particularly rude, just curious.

France fixed his eyes on the boy in front of him. Fifteen at best, he decided. Blonde haired, gray eyes with a hint of blue.

As France scrutinized him, the boy almost seemed to relax under his gaze. "Alfred said you might be coming. You can follow me if you like."

France stood up and followed the boy.   
\-----  
The boy lead him towards a room where even with the doors shut, arguing spilled into the hallway.

The boy shouldered open the door without another thought.

He took a seat beside another boy in a blue uniform who had his head pillowed on the table, black hair falling over his f

Prussia looked up from the side of the table. "France! Awesome to see you. Come to help my awesomeness kick England's ass?"

America narrowed his eyes at Prussia.

George Washington just laughed quietly. The man beside him- the famous Hamilton?- rolled his eyes.

Hamilton looked at the soldier sleeping at the table beside him and seemed to soften a little. "Cameron, take he-  _him_ back to his room, would you?"

The boy, apparently named Cameron, nodded, and gently shook at the soldier's shoulder.

The soldier glanced up, and Cameron whispered something to him before they both left.

"After your success at Saratoga, I have decided to help you." France stated.

France didn't see the slightly bitter twist in America's smile as he stared after the two teenage soldiers.

 ** _8_**  
**Quebec, Upper Canada**  
**June 13, 1788**  
There was a teenager in Canada's house.

England just stared. She swayed slightly and hummed a bit, and then turned slightly.

A small, dark haired child is on her hip, and the girl has her eyes closed as she rocks the child to sleep.

England clears his throat, and the girl's eyes snap open.

Green, clear eyes. Freckles. A generous mouth and bright, vibrant red hair.

"Oh, um." She switches the child to her other hip. "Matthew, company!" She calls.

The girl smiles. "I'm Cecilia. I'm kind of a neighbor. This is my sister." She gestures to the child, who is now sleeping on her shoulder.

"You don't look alike." England says.

"She's my half sister."

Matthew appears from somewhere, with a boy on his heels. The boy carries another dark haired child.

Cecilia looks back at the boy. "Well, we'll just being going. See you later, Matthew."

England is too stunned by the children's rapid departure to ask questions.

 ** _9_**  
**Kuala Batee, Aceh Sultanate**  
**February 10, 1832**  
America was vicious when he lashed out, no matter what the rest of Europe tried to say about the kid being weak.

Power seemed to radiate off of him, even as he sat on the railing of the ship, one leg on either side. The brunette sitting near him took a drag from a cigarette, blowing the smoke out over the ocean.

As the Netherlands came closer, the two stopped talking.

The boy smirked in a way vaguely reminiscent of France. Or maybe England.

America made a quick, snappy gesture. "Josh. Go."

The boy smirked when he passed the Netherlands, tipping his hat slightly.

 ** _10_**  
**June 17, 1858**  
**Washington DC**  
The second England stepped into the capital building, several agitated gazes were fixed on him.

One in particular, a boy with dirty blonde hair, and just straight  _hateful_ blue-violet eyes had gritted his teeth before coming to see what he wanted.

I wish to see America, He told him.

There was a little bit of mirth in his eyes as he responded. "Well, then I guess you could just look around, because I mean, this is Ame- ow! Corey, What the hell!"

The second person had approached silently and had rolled his eyes and slapped the other boy on the head.

"Personal feelings don't matter, Michael. Stop trying to confuse him with your odd sense of sarcasm and tell him the goddamn party line so you can get back to work."

Michael gritted his teeth. "I'm sorry,-" both grimaced as if the words physically pained them. "Alfred is unavailable at the moment."

England smiled, (though it was more of a snarl- it had made Spain cry once.) "I'll wait."

The two boys just rolled their eyes. England heard one of the White House attendants mutter something behind him. "Lucky Miss Samantha isn't here, she would have already thrown him out on his ass- or in the nearest body of water."  
\-------------  
It was several hours later when America finally walked into the White House.

England almost went to greet him, until he realized America was covered in blood. No one else seemed to think this out of the ordinary, and the two boys from earlier even ran up to greet him.

England barely caught the tail end of the conversation. "-still won't stop bleeding. I left her with Austin- England?"

"America. Heard you're on the brink of civil war."

"Fuck off, England."

 ** _11_**  
**Washington DC, America**  
**April 3, 1916**  
Arthur Kirkland looked between the two identical doors. Now, which one was Alfred's?

He sighed, and opened the door to the right.

Tasteful, with a neatly organized mahogany desk and a comfy office chair. The inbox and outbox were equally filled with neatly stacked paperwork, and even the pencil holder stuffed with pens and pencils alike seemed organized somehow.

There were bookcases all around the back, which were filled with books, files and binders. An antique-looking fainting couch sat on the rug in front of the fireplace (which looked like it hadn't been used in years.) with a carefully-placed, warm-looking, knitted blanket and several comfortable looking throw pillows on it.

"Excuse me?" Someone said from behind him. England spun. There was a girl with red hair pulled into a neat, no-nonsense bun clutching a coffee cup in each hand in the doorway. One eyebrow was raised as she surveyed him, and then her office carefully.

"I don't believe you're supposed to be in my office." She said finally. She was wearing a black skirt that fell a little past her knees with a white blouse and a black blazer. "I handle confidential documents, and most people are not allowed to be in my office with supervision, let alone without."

England stared at the petite girl. "Goodness, you can't be more than twenty!" And a girl, he added mentally.

The girl raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested she was going to call for security.

England rushed out the explanation. "I'm looking for an Alfred F. Jones?" He offered.

The girl's shoulders lost their tenseness. "He's across the hall."

 ** _12_**  
**Vimy, France**  
**April 13, 1917**  
France stared as Canada, still in his bloody, torn uniform, started chastising a group of soldiers who looked like they had seen better days. And yet, they smiled.

"Do you know what Alfred would do to me if you managed to get yourself killed?"

"Throw you a party and say good riddance, those kids were starting to get on my nerves?" A red head answered, even though he was smiling like it was a joke.

"Daniel!"

There was a few laughs from the soldiers.

"Why would Amérique do that?" France asked, and immediately had several pairs of eyes on him.

One stood, walking over to France. Extended a hand. "Hadley, sir, it's an honor." The soldier said, the Canadian patch on his arm seeming to glow against the ruined uniform.

"Suck up." One of the other men- no boys, they can't have been old enough to enlist- said.

 ** _13_**  
**New Orleans, Louisiana**  
**April 30, 1925**  
When they had told him that America was off in Louisiana, France hadn't expected this. This being America in a suit, a glass of illegal liquor in his hand as he talked with a pretty girl.

Pretty girl, with skin the color of cocoa powder and dark, wavy hair. France was highly considering trying to snatch her away from America, trying to get her to come home with him. "Evangeline, that's a terrible idea."

"Bet it would be fun, though."

"Doesn't make it a good idea."

" _Bonjour_ , Alfred."

America looks up. "Francis! Wasn't expecting to see you here."

" _Bonjour, monsieur_." The girl says, tips her glass to him.

"French?"

"Cajun." And now he can hear the twang to her words.

She drained her drink- Prohibition's cheap excuse for bourbon probably. "Goodbye, Alfred." She told America.

"Happy Birthday, Evangeline." He replies as the girl disappeared.

 ** _14_**  
**Chicago, Illinois**  
**May 12, 1927**  
Romano didn't mind Chicago all that much. It had nothing on Rome or Sicily of course, but there was a harsh beauty in Chicago. Especially when you knew what happened in the Chicago underworld.

Earlier that day, two hours after he had arrived in the city, an invitation had arrived.

It hadn't been signed, but Romano knew it was from Al Capone himself.

He stepped into the speakeasy and immediately found who he was looking for. Of course, he didn't expect the girl with her legs thrown across Capone's lap, her back resting against the arm of the couch.

The girl was young, younger than Veneziano for sure, and he was only twenty.

Her slinky red dress was held in place by two thin straps. There was a slit in her dress going up to mid thigh, showing off long tan legs (She must have a little Italian in her somewhere, Romano decided.) Blond curly hair fell in a bob, cut just past her chin. Her eyes had been carefully outlined in black, mascara applied liberally in a way that somehow didn't make her look trashy, pouty lips painted redder than her dress. She had the same harsh beauty as she city she leaved in, dress not doing anything to hide the scars that adorned her body.

Romano stood in front of Al Capone. "And here I thought this was a business meeting." He stated.

Capone raised an eyebrow. "It is."

"Then why is some high-class hooker on your arm?"

Capone grinned. "Ah. You misunderstand. Miss Jolliet is an associate of mine."

The pretty girl smiles, quick and sultry, all gleaming white teeth and blood red lips. "It's a pleasure." There's a Chicago accent roughening the edges of her words.

"What kind of associate?" Romano lets his curiosity get the best of him.

'Miss Jolliet' shrugs. "Assassin, driver, smuggler, bodyguard. I am whatever is necessary." She shifts enough that her dress slides a bit down on her leg, showing a red garter belt, and more importantly, the handgun tucked into it. Romano's eyes slip down to her heels. An Italian brand. He approves.   
\-------  
He was almost surprised when the girl agreed to dance with him.

"So, you and Capone-"

"Not a chance in hell."

"You aren't involved?"

"Capone has syphilis. I enjoy not having syphilis."

Romano pauses, dips the woman and spins.

"What's your first name, Miss Jolliet?"

"Why would I tell you that?"

"Because maybe I want to take you home." Romano said it with the slightest hint of flirtation in his voice. The girl threw her head back and laughed.

"All you men are alike, you know. You think that us girls can't survive with each other alone." She winked, kissed his cheek, and disappeared into the crowd.

 ** _15_**  
**Berlin, Germany**  
**August, 1936**  
Italy was looking for Germany, which was hard to do in a huge Olympic stadium.

And then suddenly he was on the ground.

The person who had ran into him groaned and tried to sit up.

Italy did so as well.

"I am so  _sorry_." The girl said. "I should have been looking where I was going."

"It's okay." Italy smiled, after all, this was a pretty girl, and he knew how to handle pretty girls.

"Ciao, what's your name? I'm Feliciano Vargas, but everyone just calls me Feli~"

The girl took his offered hand, and shook it once.

"Cordelia Jones. Everyone calls me Corey."

"Your last name is Jones? That's funny, I know an American named Jones, his name is Alfred-"

"That's strange. I guess Jones is a really common name." She got up, and pulled him to his feet.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Vargas."

"You too, Ms. Jones." The skirts of her dress swished around her legs as she walked away.

Italy just shrugged and walked away.

 ** _16_**  
**Eastern Finland**  
**December, 1939**  
"Tino, there's American volunteers coming in." Sweden said.

Finland was out of the tent in seconds.   
\------------  
350 American volunteers.

It wasn't much, but it would make a difference somewhere.

Someone came up to Finland, and he looked up. An American, of course.

A violet-eyed one. "America sends his apologies that he couldn't come."

Finland smiled. "I didn't expect him to. He's neutral and isolationist, isn't he?"

"Yeah." The soldier nodded his head and turned to leave.

"Wait, what's you name?" Finland called.

"Michael Jones."

Finland started a bit, but by the time he had found a response, the soldier had left.

 ** _17_**  
**Paris, France**  
**April 3, 1942**  
Germany had had a long day.

So forgive him, if when he saw one of France's girls- all smiles and light brown hair- he considered it.

His soldiers were all clamoring around the women in the bar, and the girl was no different. Simple blue skirt, green blouse.

She couldn't have been more than eighteen, and yet she handled the men like a pro.   
\-----------  
"I've never seen a man who looks so all alone, Mr. Beilschmidt." The girl said as she sat down beside him. She pronounced his name in a French way that almost seemed like she was purposely messing it up.

"Would you like some company?" She asked as she crossed long, lithe legs.

Germany stared at the tiny French woman. "Who are you?"

"Celeste, Celeste Gagnon."

Her smile is bright, honest, but something about her reminds him of Canada and his shock troops and the rumors of the Devil's Brigade- something in his head warns  _stay away from this one, this one is bad news, stay away stay away stay away danger danger danger._

"Excuse me." Germany says, and leaves quickly.

Later, he will berate himself for fearing a tiny French woman, of all things.

 ** _18_**  
**Pacific Front**  
**August, 1942**  
Australia stops dead in his tracks at the sight of America and one of his soldiers.

An American soldier leaning in to whisper into America's ear, something that makes him smile.

America says something, and hugs the soldier tight.

Far too familiar.   
\------  
When Australia tries to talk to the soldier, the soldier ignores him, except to snap a quick photo of Australia as he moves.   
\------  
"So, guess what I saw on the Pacific Front?" Australia says as he props his feet on England's table.

England takes a sip of tea and makes a face. "Damn rationing. So what did you see? And get your feet off of my table."

"Pretty sure America's sleeping with one of his soldiers."

England spits out his tea.   
\-------  
America wakes up with England in his face. "What's this about you sleeping with your soldiers?"

"Dude, what the fuck?"

"You can't just go around sleeping with your soldiers!"

"Why the hell would I do that? What the hell is this about?" America blinked a few times. "Wait you think I'm sleeping with one of my soldiers???"

Well, when America put it like that, it did sound a little ridiculous.

 ** _19_**  
**Salerno, Italy**  
**September 17, 1943**  
Romano closes his eyes and thinks of his brother. His stupid, stupid brother, who is still in the North, who is still under the control of Mussolini.

He had signed an agreement with Canada, England, and America earlier, and agreement that put him on their side, not his brother's.

"Hey, are you okay?" He opens his eyes.

An American soldier stares back at him with concerned caramel (almost golden) eyes.

"You're the one they had guarding my room."

"Yep." The American sat down across from him.

"Davenport." The American says.

"What?"

"That's my name; well, last name. Conner Davenport."

"Lovino Vargas." Romano says as he eyes the soldier. Davenport seems to bright and young to have fought in this war. "Do you want something?"

He shrugs. "World peace?"

Romano rolls his eyes. " _Gli americani tipici_."

Davenport smiles. "Aww, I like to think I'm a special American snowflake."

It takes a depressingly long moment to realize that he is replying to Romano's Italian.

"You speak Italian?"

Davenport shrugs. " _Alcuni_.  _Ho un po italiana in me da qualche parte_."

 _Oh_. Romano had been cursing at him in Italian when he'd been guarding his room.

"Yo, Davenport!"

Oh god. Here comes America.

"What's up?" Davenport asked.

"There's a phone call coming in for you from your brother."

Davenport nodded, even though his eyes had tightened at the mention of his sibling. "Capisco. Grazie."

" _Nessun problema_." America called as he jogged away.

"Alfred speaks Italian?"

"As long as I've known him." Davenport said, before leaving.

 ** _20_**  
**Mariana Islands**  
**August, 1944**  
The little girl lashes out viciously, teeth bared. If she were a dog, her hackles would be raised and her ears would be back, Japan thinks.

She points the rusty blade of a bayonet at him from the supposed safety of a tree.

Japan decided to ignore her and continue on his way.

(Five minutes later, a gunshot rings out and something in him constricts.)

 ** _21_**  
**Amsterdam, Netherlands**  
**May 5, 1945**  
The Canadians are marching through, driving away the Germans, and Netherlands thinks it feels a bit like standing in the rain, letting it rinse off the mud and blood of the last few years.

He remembers the two Canadian soldiers, black hair tucked under caps, coming to find him, going to get Canada for him. Netherlands thinks they were brothers.

 ** _22_**  
**Egglesberg, Austria**  
**May 2, 1945**  
"And you'll keep them safe?" Hungary asked desperately.

America nodded, watching the crown get passed from Hungarian hands into American. He gestured for one of his men to come over.

"Kendall Tucker, meet Elizabeta Héderváry. Lizabet, he's one of my best people. I'll send him with your crown, and he'll report back to me."

Hungary looked at this lanky teenage soldier who would protect  _her crown jewels, her holy crown_ , and cast a weary look at America.

"Trust me." The teenage superpower says, and Elizabeta does.

"I promise I won't let anything happen to your crown jewels." He gives her a crooked grin. "Scout's honor, Lizabet."

And Elizabeta hugs him, and cries.

 ** _23_**  
**New York, America**  
**August 21, 1969**  
"Charlie, I don't know what that's supposed to mean." China stopped when he heard America's voice. Then he decided to find out who America was talking to.

He blinked at what he saw.

The young superpower himself, sitting at a table across from a smiling girl.

The girl-Charlie?- had long, brown hair braided with flowers and a very loose, flowing dress.

China moved so he could catch what they were saying.

America nodded. "-yeah. So what was the turnout for Woodstock?"

"I don't know, you tell me, you were there, too." Charlie tells him.

"Well, I saw Brooke, and where there's Brooke there's William, and most likely Adrien and Nicky; Nicky probably brought Adam.... who else....."

"Callie, and Aiden, because I brought him. Evangeline, and Caden, and god knows who else."

"Lovely. What do you want to talk about today? Politics?"

Charlie groaned. "Absolutely not."

America laughs. "Fine. How is your garden?"

China backs away, and never mentions what he saw to anyone.

 ** _24_**  
**Israel**  
**January 23, 1991**  
"Heard they gave you a USAF F-117 Nighthawk." Israel heard America say as he entered the building.

"Yeah. I'm looking forward to flying it." Another voice said.

Israel entered the room on silently, but somehow America still knew he was there.

"Izzy!" America called happily.

Israel winced slightly at the slightly obnoxious- albeit affectionate- nickname. "America."

Israel sat down. "Let's talk."  
\--------  
"You're asking me to just let these scud missile attacks go." Israel's voice was flat, and America winces. The soldier sitting beside America however, does not. He pushes a folder towards Israel, and elbows America.

The soldier speaks. "We are willing to give you Patriot missiles if you refrain from responding to the Scud attacks."

Israel looks at this dark-haired, dark-eyed, tan-skinned American carefully. "Middle Eastern?"

"Hispanic and American Indian." The soldier answers. Israel nods.

"Tell me about these Patriot missiles, then, America."

 ** _25_**  
**Arlington, Virginia**  
**September 15, 2001**  
"Bloody hell." England said as he stared down at the Pentagon.

Four days ago, a plane had crashed into it. Four days ago, America had been attacked during peacetime. An hour ago, England had been in a hospital, visiting America and had gotten to see firsthand the wounds.

"Think that's bad, you should see New York." A voice says. England doesn't turn.

"I've seen the news." He responds and looks at the female naval officer out of the corner of his eye.

"Everyone's seen the news." She turns to him. "But they're already making plans to rebuild the Pentagon, we're already fixing the mistakes that lead to this. I guess that's the thing though."

"What thing?" England asks.

"Americans don't know when to just give up. They wanted to hurt us, instead they united us. Look around, and there's an American flag flying in just about every yard."

"Lieutenant Commander!" Someone calls.

The woman smiles grimly. "It seems I'm needed. Goodbye."

_the end._

**Author's Note:**

> States/Provinces/Estados, in order of appearance:  
> 1: New York (then New Netherlands)  
> 2: New Jersey  
> 3: Florida  
> 4: The Carolinas- the one stealing the bread is North  
> 5: Veracruz  
> 6: The Californias; Valentina is California; Gabriel is Baja California; and Jax is Baja California de Sur  
> 7: New Hampshire; the one sleeping is New York  
> 8: Nova Scotia; Newfoundland is the one she's holding; New Brunswick; Labrador is the one he's holding  
> 9: Alabama  
> 10: Michigan; Ohio  
> 11: DC  
> 12: South Carolina; Ontario  
> 13: Louisiana  
> 14: Illinois  
> 15: Ohio  
> 16: Michigan  
> 17: Ontario  
> 18: California= soldier  
> 19: Connecticut  
> 20: Mariana Islands  
> 21: New York; New Jersey  
> 22: Kentucky  
> 23: Oregon  
> 24: Nevada  
> 25: Virginia
> 
> •In six, Mexico totally came up with the whole "the mission named them/ left on the mission steps" thing. The workers were under strict orders to say the same thing if asked. Also, the whole thing would be in spanish, except I don't pay enough attention in spanish class to do that. Also, Valentina is California's original name.
> 
> •In seven, New York is sleeping through the meeting because she had been fighting at Saratoga and gotten very injured. That's also why America's smile is bitter.
> 
> •In nine, it's set is during the First Sumatran expedition, during which the US was allied with Netherlands. Basically, the Sumatrans were attacking American/Dutch shipping, so we kicked their butts.
> 
> •In ten, the blood is Kansas's, from bleeding Kansas.
> 
> •In thirteen, it's set on Louisiana's statehood anniversary, aka her birthday.
> 
> •In sixteen, the setting is during Finland's Winter War. 350 Americans of Finnish Descent volunteered to fight in the war. Michigan has the highest population of Finnish Americans. Delaware, Washington, and Wisconsin were also somewhere over there during this time.
> 
> •In seventeen, Hadley goes by "Celeste Gagnon" because she's a spy, or a covert informant. Celeste is her middle name, and Gagnon is a French surname that means guard dog- Adrien helped her come up with it.
> 
> •In nineteen, Connecticut goes by "Conner Davenport" because being a girl and a soldier weren't exactly compatible in the 1940's. Conner is derived from Connecticut, and Davenport comes from John Davenport, one of her founders.
> 
> •In twenty-two, Alfred calls Elizabeta Lizabet because Elizabeta is very close to Elizabeth and it confuses him sometimes. Ergo Lizabet and not Liz or Lizzy. Also, Kentucky is there because the Hungarian holy crown was put in Fort Knox for safe keeping, and then returned to the Hungarians amidst a lot of controversy in 1978.
> 
> •Twenty-three is set a few days after Woodstock, and in my opinion, Oregon would have been like the biggest flower child in the 60s.
> 
> •In twenty-four, Israel is a guy for the sole reason that Israel is a male name, which is also why Iran is female in my head canon. It is set during the Gulf War.
> 
> Adios!


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